Chalk, sounds exciting doesn’t it? That’s exactly what I thought going into this article. I think the most important thing to realize about this article first, is that McPhee knows that his average New Yorker reader is not going to care about the chalk deposits that run all through Europe. With the off chance that one of his readers might be some crazy chalk enthusiast. McPhee knows he has to grab the reader’s attention with something that will keep them reading. And this is exactly what he does.
McPhee begins this story with the picture of him and his grandson Tommaso on the banks of the Thames. Tommaso picks up a piece of chalk and proceeds to write the words “ROCK ON” into the embankment. The way that McPhee explains this scene however, is interesting because he only give us one letter at a time. So you have to read a considerable portion of the text before you actually find out what Tommaso is writing.
After setting up this scene with his grandson writing with the chalk, McPhee has prepared us for a story which is seemingly going to talk about chalk. However, a few paragraphs after the introduction he seems to rip the carpet out from under our feet and shifts his focus to talk about wine making and grapes. After reading on a bit more however, we can see that Mcphee is taking the two seemingly unrelated topics of wine and chalk and weaving the expertly together, so the reader is getting to learn about two vastly different subjects.
And then it happens.
After reading this quaint little story about the merits of chalk and wine making, McPhee hits you like a tonne of bricks by explaining the history of chalk. He literally goes all the way back to the beginning of time. He suddenly begins pummelling you with words like cretaceous, tyrannosaurus and Palaeocene. In a way you almost feel betrayed, because here you thought you were going to read a nice little story about chalk, and then he goes and slaps you across the face with all this technical information. I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised though, this is McPhee we are talking about.
By the end of the story it becomes clear that McPhee has used the motif of chalk and the fact that it runs all through different parts of Europe, to bring together a bunch of seemingly unrelated topics through the theme of chalk. And in the end you find that you have learned more than you have ever wanted to about chalk, but it’s okay because McPhee was able to keep you from being bored to tears.
As a side note, I think one of the things worth mentioning about this piece is McPhee’s apparent use of humour and imagery. While nearly everyone would find that an expose on chalk would be very dry and boring, McPhee is able to sneak in little moments of humour which make the story that much more bearable. For example, when one of the characters uses the word “quid” he says: “Nobody says "quid" anymore, Doyne-Ditmas is silently reflecting.” And during a wine tasting he says “For my part, I am not ejecting a whole lot of what I am sipping, and I am getting a little drunk.” As for his use of imagery one of the most striking images in the whole story come at the beginning with the line “Now downriver comes the Tor Belgia, out of London, with a six-deck rear house, followed by the Arco Humber, spewing bilge, a floating cadaver of ulcerated rust.”
Before anyone write this story off completely, I think you should give it a shot, you might just be surprised with what you learn.
Allyson Gorham
Chalk, sounds exciting doesn’t it? That’s exactly what I thought going into this article. I think the most important thing to realize about this article first, is that McPhee knows that his average New Yorker reader is not going to care about the chalk deposits that run all through Europe. With the off chance that one of his readers might be some crazy chalk enthusiast. McPhee knows he has to grab the reader’s attention with something that will keep them reading. And this is exactly what he does.
McPhee begins this story with the picture of him and his grandson Tommaso on the banks of the Thames. Tommaso picks up a piece of chalk and proceeds to write the words “ROCK ON” into the embankment. The way that McPhee explains this scene however, is interesting because he only give us one letter at a time. So you have to read a considerable portion of the text before you actually find out what Tommaso is writing.
After setting up this scene with his grandson writing with the chalk, McPhee has prepared us for a story which is seemingly going to talk about chalk. However, a few paragraphs after the introduction he seems to rip the carpet out from under our feet and shifts his focus to talk about wine making and grapes. After reading on a bit more however, we can see that Mcphee is taking the two seemingly unrelated topics of wine and chalk and weaving the expertly together, so the reader is getting to learn about two vastly different subjects.
And then it happens.
After reading this quaint little story about the merits of chalk and wine making, McPhee hits you like a tonne of bricks by explaining the history of chalk. He literally goes all the way back to the beginning of time. He suddenly begins pummelling you with words like cretaceous, tyrannosaurus and Palaeocene. In a way you almost feel betrayed, because here you thought you were going to read a nice little story about chalk, and then he goes and slaps you across the face with all this technical information. I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised though, this is McPhee we are talking about.
By the end of the story it becomes clear that McPhee has used the motif of chalk and the fact that it runs all through different parts of Europe, to bring together a bunch of seemingly unrelated topics through the theme of chalk. And in the end you find that you have learned more than you have ever wanted to about chalk, but it’s okay because McPhee was able to keep you from being bored to tears.
As a side note, I think one of the things worth mentioning about this piece is McPhee’s apparent use of humour and imagery. While nearly everyone would find that an expose on chalk would be very dry and boring, McPhee is able to sneak in little moments of humour which make the story that much more bearable. For example, when one of the characters uses the word “quid” he says: “Nobody says "quid" anymore, Doyne-Ditmas is silently reflecting.” And during a wine tasting he says “For my part, I am not ejecting a whole lot of what I am sipping, and I am getting a little drunk.” As for his use of imagery one of the most striking images in the whole story come at the beginning with the line “Now downriver comes the Tor Belgia, out of London, with a six-deck rear house, followed by the Arco Humber, spewing bilge, a floating cadaver of ulcerated rust.”
Before anyone write this story off completely, I think you should give it a shot, you might just be surprised with what you learn.